Coming Home To You
by Reika
Summary: Third in the With My Last Breath series. I tell you...this just won't go away. Harry's POV. Harry says goodbye to the things he knew, and prepares to see Draco again.


Disclaimer: Me no own…you no sue. 

A/N: Okie dokie. I had several people who wanted to know more after Much Like Suffocating…so I wrote this. I wanted to do Harry's POV anyways. There is an angst alert here…so be warned. Harry may seem a bit OOC…but he is older, and worn…so this is how I see him. There is going to be one more in this series and *then* I'm done. It wasn't really supposed to go past the first one-shot…but damn…it wouldn't leave me alone until I got it out. Anyways…please read and review…as they are always appreciated.

Oh! The infamously horrible French is back! This little ficcy wasn't planned…I just sat down and here it was, so I didn't have time to ask for help from Sparkle. So if any of it is incorrect…just let it go…it's not a tragedy. Thanks. ^.^

Kitten Baby Girl: This isn't your fic…that one is next. As promised, I will e-mail it to you….but this needed to come first. Thanks *smooch*.

Coming Home…To You

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There were times, in my youth, that I felt like a normal little boy. There were times when I felt *too* normal. I can remember, vaguely, wanting…needing…to feel special. Deprived of my mother's touch, I watched my surrogate family function happily, in their own way. For all their neuroses, the Dursleys loved each other…they just didn't love *me*. If I think back far enough, beyond war and the jumbled events of my adolescence, I can see my aunt Petunia's smile when her son entered a room. Dudley was not an aesthetically appealing child, nor a smart one – but to her he was *perfect*…because he was *hers*.   
  
I spent years of my life longing to be possessed by someone…anyone…never realizing that it was my need for belonging which drove me into the arms of the most possessive boy I had ever known.   
  
Draco Malfoy had been given everything he had ever wanted and he protected what was his with a vicious ferocity. I think, now, that I belonged to him long before I had ever consented to be his property. Beneath his scathing and spoiled exterior I learned, tutored in his bed, his mouth, his mind, that he was essentially a wounded person. Just like everyone else.   
  
He was, however, stronger than most. Stronger than me. To be honest I would have left it all, weakly giving in to my heart, that had proved so traitorous in the past, and left with him…wizarding world be damned. I could not have joined his 'side'…I'd sooner die…but given the opportunity to take him and live a life untouched by magic…I would have taken it. He knew though…he knew that things would end this way. I wonder if he had ever explored his talent for divination, because *I* certainly could not have foreseen my life the way that he had.   
  
It vexes me, to this day, that when I *needed* him to claim me, to deny me ownership of myself and remove my responsibilities – when I gave him the opportunity to do with me as he pleased, to kiss or kill…he refused. That night, amidst the tangled and sweaty sheets of his prefect bed, he informed me of his intentions to part from me – permanently. It wasn't as though I hadn't known it would come…but some small part of me dug and scraped for the tiniest glimmer of hope; and I found Pandora's Box empty. Myths and legends often disappoint. Look at me.   
  
Somewhere in my head my mantra of 'you are his and if he wants you, he'll stay' repeated over and over until it had become the only language I could understand. Well…almost the only language.   
  
That night I bound us together – more so than before. Not by magic, not by love nor confines of string – by blood. The notion would have been cliché, had it been anyone else. My blood, however, is itself a symbol of Draco and I. Gryffindor and Slytherin…light and dark. He did not ask questions – not because he did not care, but because there was no need.   
  
It was odd…that the last of our nights together included so many firsts. It was the first time he ever gave himself to me, the first time I could see respect in his eyes when he looked at me…the first time I saw him cry.   
  
After that night, I became what everyone always knew I would…Harry Potter, the war hero. Yes…the war has been long, hard…and I have lived under death's shadow for longer than I care to remember. But you know all that…don't you? I have no interest in telling my tale of battle…and I hope the things that have been burned in my brain will follow me to the grave, never to be burdened on another person.   
  
I heard, once, an auror call this "Potter's war"…which is not only fallacious…but laughable. My war started long before this accursed excuse for us to slaughter one another. My war started when I refused a single handshake. That was my declaration of battle. I am alive…for now. My "side" is winning this "war"…and yet…I have lost. People seem to forget that to rival someone, one must be their equal. Draco Malfoy was *never* inferior to me…in fact he bested me where it seemed to matter most.   
  
Since that day in the rain, I have been more ferocious than ever before in my pursuit of victory. I have a debt to pay…   
  
That day was the first of my two final battles. Ron saw me…he could have had me thrown from my position for what he bore witness to. I tried to help the death eater's top warrior escape…I tried to *force* him to escape. I hadn't really expected to be successful though…I know…knew…Draco better than that.   
  
He told me once that he would use his last breath to curse me – whether he did so or not…I may never know. The last words from his lips were in a language I didn't understand. There was almost no sound…but even now, they ring about in my head like cathedral bells.   
  
I've given up on forgetting that day. Sometimes I get so busy that it gets pushed to the back of my mind…it has been a year, after all. However…at night…it always returns. The day Draco drew his last breath…our last breath. Yes…I stopped breathing then…and I'm quite sure I died. The air currently in my lungs is not my own – it is borrowed. Borrowed from all the people filled into this safe house, the people who've died to fight for me, the people who lend me their strength…their life. When this is over, I will give it all back…and finally be in peace. That day…the day we died…comes back to me when I close my eyes…and thus I have learned to function on little sleep. When I wake up, covered in sweat…or tears…I cannot discern…Ginny grips onto my arms possessively. I always have to stifle the urge to rip it away from her – I do not belong to her. She runs her feminine fingers through my soaking hair and whispers soothingly into my ear…and then she wonders why I always get out of bed and do not return for the rest of the night. It is not her gender that causes my listlessness in her charms – to be honest I don't know if I even *have* a sexual orientation anymore. I killed the only person, male or female, to ever excite me.   
  
I informed her…long ago…that I would never belong to her. She asked me why, repeatedly…and I have never told her. My reasons are too complex…too pure to sully with the ignorant scrutiny of those who will never understand them. Ron tried for a while to understand; and he does…to some degree. But I suppose it would be difficult for him comprehend when I am unwilling to give him more than scraps of information. When I returned…that day…he waited with the rest of them, even though he *knew* why I barricaded myself in that room. He let me ride out my anger, my grief. And then he came to me and…he held me. It was the first time since the night I bound myself to Draco that another person's arms did not revolt me. Perhaps it was because he is the only brother I have known…perhaps it was because I had not slept in three days and delirium took her grip on me.   
  
He asked me, with my head heavy in his lap, where I took Draco…and I refused to tell him…with good reason. That last night…even though I marked our bond ceremoniously – with the slicing of skin and the press of warm flesh – we were already bound. He knew it…I knew it. I told him I would know where he was…and I did. After he fell…I lifted him as though he were a child. Draco was no boy – he was a man. Tall, and lean…he matched me in every way imaginable. I used no levitation spells…I think now that it may have been the adrenaline…or that I simply did not care, having gone numb.   
  
For the *only* time, I walked away from a battle…I left my people there to fend for themselves. It was not as though they were not in capable hands; but to give me so much of themselves…I will never abandon them again…not until this is over. I walked for what felt like days, or perhaps years…blurring around the edges and leaving me in a semi-euphoric state where time did not matter. However, after what I'm sure was only hours, I arrived at the death eater head quarters. My memory is a bit blurry…but I do recall barely restraining my magic. I came through the gates of Malfoy Manor, Draco limp in my arms, *daring* any of them to disturb him…or myself. As I passed them – guards, warriors, wives and commanders alike – they removed their hoods. It wasn't as though we didn't know who they were already.   
  
Their hoods came down, while their heads hung low – only a few looking me in the eyes. Lucius and Narcissa were long since dead, and Draco used the Manor for his particular group of death eaters. Voldemort was nowhere in sight…which was to be expected. I have yet to see him in a battle. I had heard that most of the people here took their orders not from the Dark Lord…but from Draco. Only one young man attempted to stop me from entering…and he was quickly dealt with by the others. He apparently had overlooked the fact that I had his commander cradled against my chest.   
  
When I entered the Manor, Parkinson had already been informed of my presence, I presumed. She appeared to be waiting for me – sitting in a chair and gripping the arms so hard her knuckles had gone white. I assumed Draco had informed her of our situation, because she merely nodded when I laid him down on the leather sofa next to her. I had only just laid him down when a child burst through the door and ran to his side…his child. I had heard that Parkinson had borne him a son…not long after we graduated. I was not surprised at the news. Draco made it clear that he intended to continue his pureblood name…he always made *everything* clear…which is another reason I had no doubts that Parkinson knew exactly why I was there. Through the grief, anger and fear in her eyes, I saw…resentment. I won't lie and say that it did not give me a twinge of satisfaction…the knowledge that she *knew* he was not hers.   
  
The child – I believe I heard Parkinson call him William – kept shaking at him, calling him. He began to cry when he realized his father was not going to get up, and just as Parkinson started to pull him away, I gripped his chin – looking at him for the first time. I remember thinking how unfortunate it was that my dirty hands left smudges on his smooth, clean complexion. He was roughly two years old, dressed in nice clothing with chubby cheeks and his father's blonde hair. I was rather dispassionate with him at first…and then I saw his eyes.   
  
They were so similar I found myself wanting to pry open Draco's lifeless eyes just to make sure they had not been removed and put into this child's skull while I wasn't looking. They were glassy from shed tears and immediately I felt as if three years had not passed…as though I were still in his bed – between his legs, watching in wonder as the saline drops rolled sideways down his cheeks and onto the pillow.   
  
It was in that moment that I made a snap decision. Taking quill and parchment from the desk nearby, I began to write out directions. There were still several guards in the room and I did not spare a glance up from my writing when I spoke to them.   
  
"Leave us."   
  
After a nod from Parkinson, they complied. A young woman came hurriedly in, sweeping the boy into her arms and preparing to carry him out.   
  
"The boy can stay…I'd like to look on him a bit longer…"   
  
When I had finished, I took the slip over to Draco's unofficial wife, shoving it roughly in her hand.   
  
"You will bury him there."   
  
She looked displeased, and furrowed her brows at me. "Potter, I thin–"   
  
"You *will* bury him there. And I trust you not to speak of this to anyone. You know you don't understand it…so don't try to. Just do as I say…you know as well as I do that it wasn't you he wanted next to him when he died."   
  
I noticed a tear slip down her cheek…but found myself apathetic. She nodded and hung her head, looking away from me. The directions were a simple plot of land I had purchased for the sheer purpose of having myself buried there. Only Ron and Hermione know of its existence. It is quiet, and beautiful in its simplicity. I wanted to be put to rest there, alone, with nothing to mark my grave. Only this would allow me peace, and anonymity. Now, however, I will be peaceful, unidentified…but not alone. I allowed myself another look at the son I would never have been able to provide Draco. To my surprise, I smiled a genuine smile for him, and wiped a tear from his pale cherubic face.   
  
After that I left as easily as I had arrived, and walked back to my own safe house on foot. I spent three days in solitude; sometimes so quiet I thought I might never speak again – sometimes screaming so loud the windows threatened to crack.   
  
That was a year ago. Tonight, I'm leaving for the last of my final battles. When Draco led his people…I often found it hard to distinguish between our causes. One did not seem more right than the other – but after his passing Voldemort became a mad man…more so than before. They had only his ideals to follow, with no other leader to give them any different path. I fought harder than I ever had before – to avenge those who died for me, to defeat the man who killed my parents, to ensure the rights of muggle borns…and to punish the man who took Draco's cause and twisted it into something undeniably evil. 

Before the final preparations are made…I have something I need to do. I find Hermione, my second and after tonight the new leader for rebuilding this world. I need her help with something…

"Mione…can you do me a favor?"

"Of course Harry. What is it you need?"

"You speak French…don't you?"

"I speak enough…"

"Can you see if you can translate something for me…I think it was in French."

"I can try…"

I tell her the phrase… 'Toujours…dieux et diables ne fera pas me garder de vous. Je suis vôtre.' I think it was…

Her eyes grow a little larger and she seems to hesitate before giving me the translation.  


"What is it Hermione?"

"I can't be certain, Harry…but the gist of it is…" She pauses and seems to think a moment before continuing "…Always…gods and devils will not keep me from you. I am yours…"

The words are familiar. Instantly I am transported back to that night…my wand, our hands…my words. I am ready now.

  
I do not plan on returning. I have no doubts that I will be victorious – and Voldemort will *not* get one curse on me. Ron and Hermione will meet me afterwards. I don't know which one of them will do it, I left that to them to decide. Parkinson marked the place she buried Draco; I have been there many times. After I am placed there in but a short few hours, Ron and Hermione will remove the headstone and leave us…in peace.   
  
As I prepare to leave, there are several "take care of yourself"s and "be careful"s. I smile and let each and every one of the people in this house know how very important they are. This is their victory – not mine. Ron and Hermione look uneasy – I cannot blame them. Finally, Ginny wraps her arms around my neck and moves to kiss my lips. She should not be surprised that I turn my head and her kiss falls instead on my cheek. I am too close to him now…there is no room for anyone else. She steps back and places her hand gingerly on her belly.   
  
"Come home to us." She says with a smile.   
  
'Us'…I assume she is referring to herself and the child residing in her womb. I cannot even begin to guess whose child she carries. She informed me that it was mine, her face bright and sickeningly happy. There was a small celebration that night. I know, however, that her baby is not…*cannot* be mine. I made sure of that…a year ago. Dark magic – I know…but useful nonetheless. I never told anyone about that. The curse is irreversible…and even if I weren't going to die in less than 24 hours…I would never be able to father a child. It's sad…that she would go to such lengths to keep me by her side…especially since I was never there to begin with. 

As I prepare to leave, Ron and Hermione keep strong faces - I will see them after it is done…but we can't let the others know that, of course. Letting my eyes roam over the walls in which I have resided for the last time, I finally leave…I'm finally going home. 

It's raining. I used to hate the rain - it kept me from playing quidditch, or laying on my back amid the grass. The sun on my face always made me smile…it still does. The rain…however…has grown on me. It feels…clean. It washes away the dirt when I haven't showered in days…and it seems to clear my mind. 

I am not far along on my path before Ginny comes running up behind me. She throws her arms around my neck, almost knocking me over. 

"Harry! Don't go…send the group, they can do it. We need you!"

"Ginny" I say calmly "I have to leave now…go back inside."

"No!" She clutches at me tighter, not caring that she's getting soaked. "Say it…just once. Please…you've never said it before!"

"And I won't do it now…Ginny, I thank you for all that you've done for me. You'll make a good mother…"

"Don't talk like that! You'll be a good father…"

I can't take it any longer. I push her hands away, and try to remain gentle as I do so. "No…I won't. I'm not coming back here."

"Of course you are! You'll come back to us…"

I pick up my things from the ground. I don't have much… 'you can't take it with you' so they say. I have my wand, and a few items I want buried with me. Before I get too far, I call back to Ginny - the girl I might have loved if not for the dragon that both killed me and brought me to life.

"I've left everything I have to you and your child. Raise him well…many people will look to him."

I don't look forward to killing Voldemort. I don't look forward to killing anyone…but I do what must be done. I'm Harry Potter - savior of the wizarding world, the boy who lived, the war hero, the leader of many - and the follower of one.

Finally…I'm coming home.

END

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OOOkkkaaayyyy. This was fun to write…it got me back into the swing of things since WIM ended. I had several people ask where Harry had taken Draco…so here you go. There will be one more in this series, although they all could stand alone, if need be. 

Thanks so much for reading, and please review.

Love and Kisses, 

Reika  



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